Apparent Mutations
by Loryn Wilde
Summary: Qui Gon struggles to help his padawan recover from the repercussions of a mission gone terribly wrong. *Read the Warning!*
1. Into the Void

Apparent Mutations  
  
By Loryn Wilde  
  
Summary: Qui Gon struggles to help his padawan recover from the repercussions of a mission gone terribly wrong.  
  
Feedback: A resounding yes! echoa@punks.org Please feel free to e-mail me about this—I've received such personal feedback a few times in the past and it's a pleasure. It also leaves more room for a good review and I can understand more fully how to better the story.  
  
Rating: R for implied rape.  
  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.  
  
  
  
!WARNING!  
  
This story is not graphic in any way, but it DOES deal with the ramifications of /rape/. I realize that rape is very serious and I am treating it as such. If this squicks you majorly and you find the subject distasteful to read about, then /PLEASE/ don't! I did not write this to get flamed. I expect feedback to be constructive criticism, not "Loryn sucks."  
  
Note: I know this is getting really long and ridiculous, but I need to be clear to everyone that this is /not/ a slash story. Also, I've had this story lying around for a /REALLY/ long time but I've been unsure if I should post it because of the content. Once again, there is nothing graphic, it deals mostly with Obi-Wan trying to get through his terrible experience. I have most of the story fleshed out and it should be maybe five chapters at the most. Thanks for reading.  
  
  
  
Apparent Mutations: Into the Void  
  
Once in their apartment, Qui-Gon Jinn guided Obi-Wan to the couch. The young man sat without a word. He gave an almost imperceptible shiver and pulled his robe more tightly around him. Qui-Gon hovered over the youth, shifting quietly from one foot to another on the soft carpeting, unsure as to what he should do. Obi-Wan's dull gaze was steadily transfixed on the floor at his feet.  
  
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"  
  
There was a long pause before Obi-Wan gave a slight shake of his head.  
  
Qui-Gon tried again. "Thirsty?"  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes darted upwards a moment before they flitted back down to the floor.  
  
"Yes," came the soft, nearly inaudible, reply.  
  
Qui-Gon nodded. "All right. I'll make us some tea." He sighed heavily and touched Obi-Wan's shoulder, "Padawan—" He pulled his hand back quickly as the apprentice flinched sharply at the contact. Qui-Gon's heart constricted and he silently rebuked himself. He would have to remember to be more careful, no matter how much he wanted to touch the boy before him, ensure himself that this was not some terrible dream. "I'm sorry—Obi-Wan—"  
  
The teen ducked his head and pulled his cloak even tighter, shaking from a chill in his soul that Qui-Gon knew he would never be familiar with.  
  
Qui-Gon took a step back, utter helplessness washing over him. It made him feel awkwardly inadequate, a decidedly foreign concept to the normally collected Jedi.  
  
"I'll make us some tea," he said again, flatly and suddenly, and spun on his heel, heading for the kitchen.  
  
As Qui-Gon heated the water, gathered two mugs from the cupboard and found the spices he needed, he lost himself in the blessed familiarity of it all. The actions were automatic and he took a moment to appreciate that fact, as thinking was not something his still shocked mind could handle at the moment.  
  
He kept bleak and tired eyes on the water in the pot and thought of his Padawan. The boy was definitely going to need time to recover. He doubted he would have to ask, but made note to approach the Council at some point the following day about getting some time off.  
  
There had been no time during the trip home from Torlo IV to talk, and every attempt Qui-Gon made to discuss what had happened with Obi-Wan was intercepted by Lord Mergal, who insisted on being with the Jedi at all times. He was overly paranoid and Qui-Gon was glad to finally be rid of him.  
  
Obi-Wan had spent the trip hidden away in the cabin they shared, scampering about the corridors with his head bowed only when his presence was absolutely necessary.  
  
Mergal had been cold towards the Padawan, and kept a distance after he had learned of what happened.  
  
Ungrateful was the word to describe him, Qui-Gon mused. Uncompassionate would certainly do. Maybe cruel.  
  
After all, Obi-Wan had gone through what he had because of that man's stupidity and carelessness. Obi-Wan had suffered something so horrible that some never completely recovered from it. It ruined lives.  
  
But Obi-Wan would survive, he thought fiercely, taking the water off the stove when it came to a boil and setting it firmly down on the counter. Obi- Wan was strong, stronger than most. He would bounce back.  
  
He could not help remembering, though, the state he had found the boy in. Qui Gon knew what had happened, Benter had been quite forthcoming before the Jedi was forced to kill him. With a heart that felt weighted in lead, Qui-Gon had searched the emptied compound until he found his apprentice.  
  
He remembered the way Obi-Wan had cried out when Qui-Gon touched him, shaking with a fear so deep that the older man could not even begin to understand.  
  
He remembered the look of terrified confusion in Obi-Wan's glazed and dilated eyes, the color of Alderaan's oceans.  
  
He remembered Obi-Wan's lips, quivering with incomprehension, swollen and bruised from unwanted advances.  
  
He remembered the Force inhibiting collar clasped too tightly around the boy's neck, biting into the soft, pale skin of his throat. Qui-Gon had removed the thing and flung it away in disgust.  
  
What he could recall most clearly, though, were the sticky bright red smears and egg white strands slicked across the youth's skin; evidence of his claiming.  
  
Qui-Gon shook his head in sad frustration.  
  
How was he to help Obi-Wan when even he had no idea how to cope?  
  
He poured the water into the two glasses and added the flavoring. He lingered there a moment, stirring the tea more than necessary, and wondered why he felt so hesitant to rejoin his Padawan. No matter how much he cared for—loved—his apprentice, there was nothing he could say to make this situation even marginally better. Obi-Wan was completely closed off to Qui- Gon; the boy had built up shields around his mind so tight that the teacher could hardly feel him. He recalled Yoda's words.  
  
"An island, he is." The ancient Jedi had poked Qui-Gon's leg with one green claw. "Reach him, you can. Show him he is not alone."  
  
And how was he to do that? Qui-Gon picked up both mugs by their handles and resolutely trampled down his doubts before they could worry him further.  
  
He would reach Obi-Wan, as Yoda had said. It did not matter how. He would see to it that the youth would surpass this dark time in his life and become even stronger.  
  
Obi-Wan was just in the next room, but felt a million light years away from anyone. He knew it was going to take some time, but Qui-Gon was determined to prove him wrong.  
  
When Qui-Gon entered the den he stopped short, all previous thoughts of getting through to his Padawan forgotten.  
  
The youth was still sitting on the couch, still tense and rigid, but his shoulders were hunched and his head bowed. One hand gripped his knee and the other was clenched tightly in the fabric of his robe.  
  
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured, moving closer. He put the cups down on the table and sat next to the youth, being sure to keep a few inches of space between them.  
  
"Obi-Wan, what's the matter?"  
  
His Padawan was trembling, and Qui-Gon cautiously placed his fingertips on the boy's back, ready to pull away if the touch was unwanted. But Obi-Wan did not react, so Qui-Gon pressed his palm flat between the young man's shoulder blades.  
  
"Padawan?"  
  
The youth shuddered. "This is—" He shook his head as if clearing his mind of muddled thoughts, but still did not look up. "More difficult than I thought it would be." And then his demeanor changed, his mental shields were reinforced, impossibly tightened, and the confession he had begun was abandoned.  
  
Obi-Wan furiously wiped the backs of his hands over his eyes before finally raising his head. Instead of meeting Qui-Gon's eyes, however, he fixed his gaze on one of the Jedi's broad shoulders. Qui-Gon felt as though the dead eyes were gnawing a hole through tunic, skin, and bone.  
  
Long, dark lashes softly brushed against the smooth and pallid skin of his cheeks like lace. "Yes, Master?" he responded dully, as if his previous admission had never been stated.  
  
"Obi-Wan—" Qui-Gon stopped. He silently pleaded for the boy to lower his shields, to let him in.  
  
/No./  
  
He sighed heavily and picked one of the hot mugs up off the table. He pressed it into Obi-Wan's hands. "I made some tea."  
  
Obi-Wan stared down at the cup and nodded. 


	2. The Frail

Apparent Mutations: The Frail  
  
  
  
It were the normal activities, simple, domestic pursuits such as eating dinner or spending an evening at home that Qui-Gon found to be the most difficult, the most strained, in the days following the pair's return from Torlo IV. But, no matter how daunting these seemingly mundane tasks could appear he faced them with quiet determination.  
  
Obi-Wan sat across from him at the kitchen table staring blankly down at his bowl of stew. Qui-Gon noted that the boy had yet to taste it.  
  
"Aren't you hungry, Obi-Wan?" he asked, shattering the silence. His voice sounded intrusive and foreign to him in the quiet.  
  
Sad, blue-green eyes traveled upwards until they locked on the Master. Obi- Wan shook his head.  
  
"You haven't eaten all day," Qui-Gon responded, then paused, waiting for a reply.  
  
The eyes flickered guiltily down to the stew and Obi-Wan picked up his spoon. He quickly glanced back up at the older man, sorrow permanently etched into his smooth features.  
  
"It's not going to poison you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said in a strained sort of humor, unable to completely mask the grief he felt at seeing his once sure and able apprentice looking so lost.  
  
"I know," Obi-Wan said, somewhat impertinently and in a hushed tone. He tugged at the edges of his robe, which he now rarely took off. He seemed to sink deeper within the brown cloth. Qui-Gon had chosen not to question its presence, as the youth seemed to find solace in its warm, concealing folds.  
  
"I'm not forcing you," Qui-Gon explained.  
  
"I know," said the Padawan again quickly.  
  
An awkward pause stretched between them and Qui-Gon leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.  
  
"Try to eat at least some of it," he reasoned gently. "Half."  
  
Obi-Wan looked down at the spoon in his hand and nodded numbly. He scooped up some broth and vegetable and forced it into his mouth. Mechanically, he chewed, swallowed, and repeated the action.  
  
He could feel Qui-Gon's eyes on him, watching him eat.  
  
"There's some bread there," the older man suggested, but Obi-Wan shook his head. Qui-Gon fell silent.  
  
A scarlet flush rushed up Obi-Wan's neck and colored his cheeks. Why was this so hard? What was he doing wrong? He could easily sense his Master's worry and felt guilty that he was the cause of it. He wished to be normal again, if only for a few moments, to allay Qui-Gon's concern. The unhidden sympathy in the older Jedi's eyes was too much to bear; a painfully clear reminder of what had been done to the Padawan. It reminded him of the way someone looked at a being who had lost a limb. It made him feel even more as though he had lost something that could never be returned to him.  
  
No—not lost. It had been taken, whatever it was. Ripped from him in a violent and brutal way—  
  
The memories came to him, then, suddenly and unbidden, and he was horrified to find that his hand was shaking in response. He glanced up to see if his Master had noticed, and saw the man looking at him with open compassion.  
  
The door chime was impossibly loud in his ears and Obi-Wan started violently. His spoon clattered to the floor, brown liquid splattered across it. Qui-Gon was at his side instantly.  
  
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan sputtered, furious and sick when he felt tears splash down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I don't—I can't—" He broke off with an ardent shake of his head.  
  
"Obi-Wan, sh. It doesn't matter." Qui-Gon picked the spoon up and placed it back on the table. "It doesn't matter. Everything is fine." He studied the Padawan worriedly. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. You don't have to eat if you're not hungry…" He moved to touch the teenager's tense shoulder, to soothe him, but when Obi-Wan shied away he gripped the back of the chair instead.  
  
Obi-Wan had hunched over in his robe, holding it tightly around him. His gaze was locked onto the table edge.  
  
"Don't be embarrassed, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, desperation coloring his words only just. He was running out of things to say. "Please," he begged quietly, forcing himself not to grab the youth by the shoulders and shake whatever oddment was left in him from the trauma. "Obi-Wan, please. Say something."  
  
The Padawan shook his head miserably, shuddering as he forced his body to release some of the unwanted tension.  
  
"There's someone at the door," was all he could say.  
  
* * *  
  
Saber practice.  
  
Normally, Obi Wan loved it, but his apathetic reaction when Qui-Gon suggested it irked the older man. Qui-Gon had set up time in the gym when they were sure to be alone, believing that they should go on as close to normal as possible until Obi-Wan was prepared to come out of his haze.  
  
The boy followed silently at Qui-Gon's heels, hands clasped behind him, head down, and back slightly slouched.  
  
The usual posture, as of late.  
  
When they began the drill, Obi-Wan was sluggish, hesitant, but Qui-Gon did not ease up on him. He was dead set upon finding the Obi-Wan he knew; the master was certain that Benter had not taken all of his Padawan.  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes were wide as Qui-Gon backed him into a wall, and his parries were nearly late, brought up just in time to block his Master's blows.  
  
"You can do better, Padawan," Qui-Gon urged, "Fight me!" He was determined to get past the hushed, servile nature that had settled over his student. He did back away, then, to give his apprentice the chance to get on the offensive.  
  
"Fight me!" he growled again, and something changed in Obi-Wan.  
  
Qui-Gon purposely left himself wide open for an attack, but was surprised anyway at the viciousness with which Obi-Wan swiped at his belly. He jumped back; the tip of the blue blade narrowly missed singing his tunic. He began to move back even further as his student advanced upon him, but planted his feet firmly on the ground. If Obi-Wan wanted him to move, he would have to make him.  
  
Obi-Wan felt a strange energy fill him, made him feel bigger than he was, as if his body had ballooned to great size and was waiting impatiently for him to use its new power. He felt restless and slow, so he quickened his blows, needing the feel of the two crackling sabers smashing together. He grit his teeth together so tightly it hurt and squeezed the handle of his weapon until his knuckles were white and straining against the taut skin of his hands.  
  
The energy continued to fill him so that he thought he might go mad. It was an itch on his mind. It made him angry. It made him want to break something.  
  
He lashed out at his Master ferociously and a wicked grin graced his darkened features when he saw the man falter.  
  
It made him want to shatter and destroy something so utterly that it would never be right again.  
  
Like he had been.  
  
His vision blurred and went red with rage. He visualized the creature that had broken him. He was going to kill that monster.  
  
Kill him.  
  
Obi-Wan had never wanted something more.  
  
* * *  
  
Qui-Gon saw the darkened, hooded eyes of his apprentice and felt a sharp stab of apprehension.  
  
"Obi-Wan."  
  
The young man was becoming increasingly violent; his blows needed more strength to block with every swing. His brows were knit together in what Qui-Gon suddenly recognized as vicious and unbridled anger.  
  
His heart leaped.  
  
Obi-Wan—*his* Obi-Wan—was fighting in anger! Qui-Gon had come to believe he would never see that day.  
  
"Obi-Wan!"  
  
He tried reaching the boy through their bond.  
  
*No!*  
  
His attempts bounced off invisible walls as strong and sturdy as durasteel. He could feel stale emotions that had been cut off and left to shrivel away in their bond when his Padawan raised his shields.  
  
They were rage and bitterness, shame and anguish. Regret. Self-hatred. Everything Qui-Gon had suspected and more. He could only imagine the torrent of emotions that boiled within the teen's mind where he could not see.  
  
Meanwhile, Obi-Wan's attack became clumsy. His anger was handicapping his ability to use the Force effectively. He sliced at Qui-Gon's head, and when the older man ducked to avoid the blade, Obi-Wan executed a fumbling, wild leap over him, somersaulting messily in the air.  
  
Though Qui-Gon was in no real danger, for he could anticipate his Padawan's sloppy maneuvers before the boy even thought them up, he felt this had gone on long enough.  
  
Before Obi-Wan could land, the teacher sent a surge of Force power at him, knocking the lightsaber from his grip and sending the shocked teen flying backward. Obi-Wan landed hard on his back a few meters away. He did not get up.  
  
Qui-Gon turned his own saber off and walked to where his student's had landed. He picked it up and went to his Padawan. He stood silent over the boy, looking grimly down at him.  
  
Obi-Wan's chest was heaving. One hand, clenched into a white knuckled fist, was pressed against his forehead, as if keeping a great pain at bay. His face was wet with tears and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His lips moved soundlessly, but Qui-Gon had heard and said the mantra so many times in his long life that he did not need to lean closer to hear.  
  
*Fear leads to anger.*  
  
*Anger leads to hate.*  
  
*Hate leads to the Dark Side.*  
  
Qui-Gon clipped Obi-Wan's saber to his belt and left the gymnasium.  
  
* * *  
  
Obi-Wan slipped quietly into their small quarters and crept into the refresher, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He sighed with no small amount of relief at having made it thus far without confronting Qui- Gon.  
  
He had meant to shower, but upon turning the faucets he quickly plugged up the drain. The thought of a bath sounded so opportune and soothing to his over weary mind that he could not pass it up.  
  
He slowly shrugged out of his sweaty clothing, pausing to look at himself in the mirror.  
  
Obi-Wan carefully studied the youthful, unlined flesh of his face, the heavy, sculptured brow. He leaned closer to inspect the gentle cleft in his chin and the smooth curve of his jaw.  
  
He straightened and squared his shoulders, tipped his chin up. A fine line creased the skin between his brows.  
  
Obi-Wan recalled—years ago, long before Qui-Gon had ever taken him as Padawan—something Yoda had told him.  
  
"Each line—meaning it has. Story behind it. Could mean smile—much happiness, or frowning and terrible things. Sadness and bad memories." The senescent Master had touched the spot between Obi-Wan's eyebrows. "Hm. Determined means this. Strong."  
  
Obi-Wan deflated. He was anything but strong.  
  
A half-hearted smile refined his features as he remembered the pride Yoda's comment had instilled within him, and the worry that the old Jedi might proceed to tell him what all the wrinkles on the green face meant.  
  
The smile evaporated as his gaze fell upon the brown, fading marks on his sides. He touched one and pressed it hard until it hurt.  
  
He wished Yoda had been right.  
  
Obi-Wan eased into the warm bath water.  
  
* * *  
  
Qui-Gon Jinn wondered briefly if his apprentice could feel his worry through their bond, but begrudgingly had to admit to himself that even a remotely Force sensitive individual could most likely feel his distress. He tried to keep his voice steady, anyway.  
  
He halted his pacing in front of the 'fresher door and said, "Obi-Wan?" He felt a quick pang of anxious surprise from his student, before he was again left in coldness, cut off from the boy. He waited out the silence for a few beats and tried again. "Obi-Wan. Answer me." The steel like quality of his tone startled him.  
  
Pause.  
  
Then a quiet, somewhat dazed voice, "I'll be right out, Master."  
  
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the sheer sadness that bubbled up in his heart. "Please, Obi-Wan. You said that at least twenty minutes ago. The water must be cold by now." The older Jedi felt strangely lost, detached as he was from the youth. Obi-Wan's shields were warily tight once again, and he was not letting Qui-Gon in. "Dinner is ready," the master tried wanly.  
  
"Be right out." The voice was even fainter now. It made Qui-Gon want to fall to his knees with grief.  
  
It had been hours since the disastrous saber duel. Qui-Gon had taken a walk through the gardens and finally meditated for a short spell under a tree. He found that he was not angry with his Padawan in the least, only sad. He had scoured his essence for any trace of bitterness but found none. He was only sad and disappointed that life had turned so sour for his beloved student.  
  
He needed Obi-Wan to know this, that he was there to support and help him. The teenager had said not two words of his experience since the day they returned. It was too apparent that the emotions inside him were confused and roiling about with no guidance. What the Master had seen earlier that day was the result of Obi-Wan not sharing his feelings.  
  
He listened with a surge of hope that had a futility all too obvious to him for sounds that would prove his Padawan really was getting out of the tub. He heard none. Qui-Gon set his jaw.  
  
"I'm coming in, Obi-Wan."  
  
There was no protest and he opened the door. He lingered for a moment in the doorframe, a dull ache lancing through him as his eyes settled on the trembling figure in the tub.  
  
Obi-Wan's head rested on his knees and his face was turned away from Qui- Gon, to the wall. Qui-Gon noted with some unease the red, agitated skin on his arms and back. The older man approached the tub and knelt before it.  
  
He had meant to come in and speak to his apprentice, to tell him that this could not go on, he had to open up, but one look at the shattered soul in the bath made him forget everything.  
  
He clasped one hand resolutely at the nape of the teen's neck. Obi-Wan stiffened.  
  
"I said I'd be right out."  
  
Qui-Gon knelt beside the tub and dipped his fingers in the still water. His gaze roamed over gooseflesh on his Padawan's arm.  
  
"The water is cold, Obi-Wan—"  
  
"No." The word was sharp and quick.  
  
Qui-Gon rose his brows. "You're shivering—"  
  
Obi-Wan whipped his head around, sending his Padawan braid flying over his shoulder. His eyes were red and a fine sheen of tears wet his face.  
  
"I said no!" he seethed.  
  
Qui-Gon was taken aback, shocked by the choleric outburst. He searched his Padawan's eyes with his own, trying to see past the irate fire he saw in them.  
  
And then Obi-Wan seemed to cave in on himself. His anger visibly left him and his eyes, where moments ago had been incensed fury, grew into two deep and empty voids.  
  
"Please, just go," he pleaded.  
  
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice, deeply disturbed by the quick transformation.  
  
"Obi-Wan," he said, "I want to help you." He touched the youth's shoulder, grateful when the Padawan did not pull back right away. "Let me help—"  
  
Obi-Wan shrank away from the touch and resumed the posture he had held when Qui-Gon entered the refresher, but he kept the Master's gaze.  
  
"No one can help me," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"Obi-Wan…" Qui-Gon begged, shocked at what he had just heard, was now seeing. But the adolescent turned his face away, resting his head on his knees once more.  
  
"Please," he asked softly, "Please just go."  
  
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice for a long moment, but the youth said nothing further.  
  
Qui-Gon stood and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Even as he went to his own room for the night, nothing could shut out the despaired weeping that settled like dust over the stillness of their small home. 


	3. Underneath It All (the Wretched)

Apparent Mutations: Underneath It All (The Wretched)  
  
  
  
Obi-Wan was just short of devastated upon realizing his assumptions were merely blind hopes.  
  
Things between he and his Master had been strained, to say the least, since the saber practice that he was more than ready to forget about, and his shameful outburst afterwards in their 'fresher six days ago. They had really only gotten worse. In an attempt to rein in his dwindling sanity the Padawan had made the abrupt decision to return to his classes. It seemed to him that with something solid to put his energies to work at and focus on he could get his life back together, forget about Torlo IV and that man Benter, and move on. He had almost laughed aloud with pure glee when he first thought of it.  
  
So simple! He and Qui-Gon would be happy again. No more fights.  
  
Obi-Wan frowned and sat down against the trunk of an enormous tree. Its thick, twisting branches were flung outward with soft, cream colored leaves that grew in curls forming a canopy above his head.  
  
To call the emotional exchanges between he and Qui-Gon 'fights' was not exactly fair. Obi-Wan reluctantly had to admit to himself that ever since he had made the mistake of sparring with Qui-Gon he tried to goad the man into anger every chance he had.  
  
Qui-Gon never became so irritated with him that he reacted the way Obi-Wan wanted him to. He usually told the apprentice in the maddeningly calm voice that only a Jedi master could achieve that he should either go to his room or leave their quarters until he was ready to stop acting like an initiate. He always suggested meditation but never ordered it. Obi-Wan had to wonder why.  
  
The Padawan plucked at a long blade of grass and began twisting it into knots as he thought. He also wondered what drove him to spurts of such rage. It frightened him immensely, but each time it came to him he felt there was no stopping it. The reasons behind it were elusive and he *had* tried meditation, more than once, in fact, as his master had advised, but it was troubled and unfocused. As much as he pondered on why what that monster did to him was affecting him so deeply, he could not figure it out.  
  
Obi-Wan had tried reasoning with himself, being literal—Benter had attacked him. Many people had attacked him over the course of his apprenticeship; perhaps not in the same way, but he had been injured enough times that one more physical assault should not have embedded itself in his psyche so deeply.  
  
But this one had, bugger it all. And he could not understand the feelings that washed over him each time he thought of it. He could not understand why his skin burned with embarrassment when he caught someone's encouraging smile, or why he felt so lost and empty.  
  
And alone.  
  
He tensely watched two knights across the garden, but they passed without giving him any notice. Once more by himself, he relaxed against the tree at his back, feeling the rough bark scrape his skin through his tunic and robe. Self consciously, he glanced around to make certain he was alone, and rubbed his back more vigorously against the wood. It felt nice; anything he could touch felt nice. He sometimes found himself squeezing objects too tightly, as if discerning their realness. That morning he had caught himself scraping his fingernails against the sensitive skin of his inner arm, not enough to hurt badly, but enough to be sure.  
  
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. Sure of what, he did not yet know. Maybe that another day had passed and this was still not a nightmare from which he would awake?  
  
He conjured an image of Qui-Gon in his mind as the man had looked when Obi- Wan had last seen him. Grief and regret tugged at his heart. Why was he acting like this? Since starting classes two days ago he had only gotten worse. Never in his young life had Obi-Wan ever been so disrespectful to someone—especially Qui-Gon. He knew that he was wearing on the older man, and wanted desperately to stop, to go to him and apologize for everything he had said, but something within halted him.  
  
He had come close, many times, actually, to confronting Qui-Gon about what had happened on Torlo IV, but each time he drew in the breath needed to speak, opened his mouth to voice the words, something terrible came out. Something ridiculous and completely unrelated. What got to him was that his teacher seemed to know when this happened. At that point, Obi-Wan could not stop himself. Qui-Gon had given him so many chances to just walk away, take back his words…  
  
The Padawan dropped his head in his hands. He had been ordered out of the apartment *again.*  
  
He was useless. Miserable and cruel and dead inside and useless. The only feelings he ever had were the ugly ones he got out of yelling at his master and when he stimulated his skin through touch.  
  
Obi-Wan had spent his latest attempt at meditating on trying to recall the last emotions he had felt, besides anger and its ensuing descent into self- loathing. He was fairly certain they were terror and dread. He had gone over the events of that night many times in his head, replaying the moment when he had walked into the darkened room. He could even remember the way the shadows had danced around the blue blaze of his lightsaber. There had been a sharp warning in the Force, so sudden that it startled him even though his body had already reacted.  
  
He had turned, swiped at nothing, and the air rushed out of his lungs as something solid collided with his stomach. He had thrown tendrils of the Force outward to push back his attacker, as his saber had been dropped and the light extinguished, but his focus was shattered when something hit the tender spot of his temple. Spots danced in the darkness of the room and something heavy, cold, and unforgiving clicked around his neck. His grasp on the Force was snuffed out immediately and he was left in a ringing silence. His heart thudded in his chest and his eyes darted about in their sockets, searching the blackness for any change while he strained his ears for sound.  
  
Someone had clenched a fist in his hair and Obi-Wan bit off a startled yelp. The lights flickered on and he blinked rapidly as it assaulted his wide eyes.  
  
He was then faced with the man who had later made good on his sneering promise to change Obi-Wan's life forever.  
  
The Padawan longed for something sweet to fill him, if only for a little while. He missed the content happiness that had all but defined his life prior to the mission to Torlo IV. It seemed as though a shadow had passed over him, adding a slight shuffle to his step and dullness to his eyes, slowing the thud of his heart and making him cold inside. He wondered if there was any escaping the bleakness that had become his life.  
  
* * *  
  
"You're the one who said we should try to get back to normal," Obi-Wan said, arms crossed defiantly over his chest as he glared down at the man seated in the chair.  
  
"Yes, I did," Qui-Gon conceded coolly, "However, I did *not* say that we should ignore your problems."  
  
"I'm not ignoring them." The words were clipped and spoken quickly.  
  
Qui-Gon regarded his Padawan, hiding his concern below layers of shields for fear of alienating the boy. "Oh?"  
  
"I'm not," Obi-Wan insisted. "I'm just going to classes. To move on with my life. To learn. You should be happy," he finished, irritated.  
  
"I'm not," responded Qui-Gon slowly, feeling the situation out as best as he could. These days it was best to approach his apprentice with as much caution as possible. He constantly needed to remind himself to keep his temper in check, even as he did not allow Obi-Wan's disrespectful nature to be indulged. Most of the time he chose to respond to the boy's petulance by ignoring it.  
  
"I can see that!" the young Jedi snapped. He dropped his arms to his sides in an effort to project calm. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I've already started them."  
  
The Master raised his brows.  
  
"No, *that* doesn't matter," Qui-Gon countered lightly, fake cheeriness printed on his weathered face. "I can pull you from your classes any time I wish." He searched his Padawan's face carefully. It seemed the ungentle reminder that *he* was the Master had not gone unnoticed by the steaming boy.  
  
Obi-Wan began to pace restlessly. His hands had disappeared into the sleeves of his ever-present robe. Qui-Gon went on.  
  
"Did you forget that, Padawan? I could force you to attend a mind healer as well. I had hoped we could work this out privately, but I'm beginning to think we should have gone to Master Crai from the start."  
  
Obi-Wan met his gaze, eyes dark and quietly smoldering.  
  
"I don't have to tell them anything," he said. "I don't want to. Not even *you* can make me do that."  
  
Qui-Gon hid his despair well, playing it off as mild annoyance.  
  
"I don't want to *make* you. Can't you see that? Can't you understand? I don't want to force you to do anything, but you're making it very difficult for me. This attitude you've adopted is grating on my nerves and I will not tolerate it." While the sternness of his voice was somewhat of a relief for the irritation that had grown inside of him, it belied Qui-Gon's silent, aching plea for his student to come to his senses. Obi-Wan silently dropped his gaze away and let it rest blankly on a faded blotch on the wall.  
  
Qui-Gon remembered when Obi-Wan had unsuccessfully tried taming a wild Chi'fra he had found cowering in the bushes near one of the temple atriums and it had spurted ink on the wall as well as the shocked Padawan. The stain had taken days to disappear from Obi-Wan's skin and, no matter how hard each of them scrubbed, never quite came off the wall. A wistful pang clenched his heart and the Master did not dwell on the recollection. He reminded himself that it was still possible to save the apprentice from the darkness that tore so mercilessly at his fragile soul.  
  
"Obi-Wan," he said seriously, "Talk to me. This is killing you."  
  
"It's under control." The words, though soft and unsure, spilled easily past the pink lips.  
  
Qui-Gon scoffed. "I think that's debatable."  
  
"You wouldn't understand," the Padawan protested weakly, and Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that Obi-Wan did not want to fight him, but felt obligated to do so. Still, the boy did not tear his gaze from the wall.  
  
"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, softly commanding the tormented youth's attention, "You must confide in me. You *must.* Pretending this never happened to you—" He hesitated, then decided to bring the issue out in the open. "Pretending it never happened will not change the fact that you were raped," he said flatly.  
  
Obi-Wan winced sharply at the word and Qui-Gon realized that it was the first time either had said it out loud. The Padawan turned away, shrugging more deeply within the folds of his robe.  
  
"I know," he said quietly, then gave a soft moan. He rubbed his eyes with both hands before they vanished back into the sleeves of his robe. "I know…! I'm just trying to figure it out—" He felt that horrible flush color his cheeks again.  
  
Raped!  
  
So that was it, then. How…embarrassing? To have Qui-Gon say it like that was unbearable. Couldn't the man see that he did not want to talk about it? For one so attuned to the Living Force he certainly seemed blissfully unaware of the feelings of his own Padawan.  
  
A sad smile softened the Master's sharp features. "I am aware, Obi-Wan. I can feel them so clearly even when you shield yourself." Qui-Gon stood and in one short stride was standing before the teenager. He put his hand to the boy's elbow and gently turned him so they faced each other. Obi-Wan's gaze flickered about nervously, anywhere but Qui-Gon's eyes.  
  
"Why won't you allow me to help you?" Qui-Gon implored quietly. "You know I want to. Why do you insist on ignoring this? You're strong, Obi-Wan. Tell me why this time you have chosen to run instead of fight."  
  
The Padawan looked up at his Master, shocked, and for a moment Qui-Gon's heart sang with hope. But Obi-Wan's eyes darkened and he wrenched his arm out of the older man's grasp. He stepped back to put some space between them and the Master was crushed when he felt the hurt entwined so deeply in his Padawan's voice, rather than hear the angry words spoken.  
  
"How could you—You don't know—!" Obi-Wan stumbled over what he wanted to say. "There's no way in Sith you'd ever understand!" he cried, and wanted to weep when the red haze clouded his vision once more. "I can't talk about something like this. There aren't words. I thought you would know that!" He backed away a few steps more and muttered bitterly, "You, out of everyone in this damned temple."  
  
Qui-Gon was prepared to let the questionable language go without comment in order to discover what the boy meant.  
  
"What are you saying?" he demanded to know, only dimly aware that the volume of his voice had risen to match that of his apprentice's. More quietly he added, "No matter what you may think, Padawan, I cannot always know what you don't tell me."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes were bright with untempered anger. "I mean Tahl, for Force's sake!"  
  
Qui-Gon stopped short and his eyes hardened, daring the young man to continue.  
  
The apprentice was not swayed. "When she died you didn't talk to me. You kept it all in. I never understood why until now. Some things should be left alone. Sometimes," he muttered, "The pain goes too deep. It can't be helped."  
  
It took the Master a moment to gather his wits about him, as they had been completely scattered by this admission, to remain calm.  
  
"I refuse to allow you to make excuses, Obi-Wan." He did not want to entertain the notion that his actions, over a year old, were now coming to surface. "I refuse to allow you to continue like this. It's dangerous." He released the anger that had welled up inside of him—remembering that this was not completely Obi-Wan. This was something Obi-Wan had created to battle back the warped emotions twisting through him, an act to stave off the remnants of the creature that had hurt him so terribly.  
  
He lowered his voice and cautiously closed the gap between them, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers over his Padawan's brow. Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered shut briefly in something like relief at the contact.  
  
"The darkness has come too close to smothering your light these past few days, my Padawan. I am desperate to help you overcome it."  
  
The boy was silent for a moment, and then slowly repeated, "Help," so softly that Qui-Gon almost did not hear it, as if he was testing the word on his tongue, and slowly lowered his gaze to the floor. He wanted to welcome the warmth Qui-Gon's touch brought to his cool skin—he could not ever seem to stay warm these days—but not yet.  
  
Green eyes, heavily flecked and speckled with shards of blue were no longer dark with anger, but clouded with deep thought. They rose upward and regarded the Master quietly for a moment.  
  
"Give me time," Obi-Wan said.  
  
Qui-Gon placed both his hands firmly on either of the boy's shoulders.  
  
"All that you need," was the easy reply.  
  
* * * 


	4. The Way Out Is Through

Apparent Mutations: The Way Out Is Through  
  
  
  
Long strides carried the powerful Master Jinn through peaceful temple corridors. Steely blue eyes were fastened straight ahead of him, intimidating even to the strongest of beings he encountered. Though his movements projected a watchful awareness, the Jedi's musings and attention were turned inward.  
  
It was rare for him these days to dwell on thoughts of how his Padawan might have felt in the short time he was captive on Torlo IV, namely because Qui-Gon feared the ache it would cause, the unbearable anger. Though he would never acknowledge it, part of him was glad he had already killed the monster—Benter—in combat. How would he fare now, he wondered, when he had only tapped into a fraction of the wealth of emotion he had gathered over the past two weeks?  
  
He sealed that part of his mind quickly, pushing those thoughts away to be sorted through later, when he was calm. At the moment, Qui-Gon's mind was squirming and alive with questions and self-doubt.  
  
Had it been an error not to bring Obi-Wan to a mind healer right away? Had his judgement been so obscured by confidence that *he* would be the best chance for his student to heal that he had only made things worse?  
  
Impatiently he stabbed the lift's call button with his forefinger and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe while it took all of two long seconds to respond. He stepped inside, grateful it was empty—one more pitying and nosy inquiry into Obi-Wan's progress and he could not be held responsible for whatever ripped past his Jedi calm—and pressed for the education wing. There was a beautiful garden in the center of it where Padawans were often led into group meditation. Traditionally, this practice was held at least three times a week for apprentice classes. Qui-Gon needed no help in finding it—as a Padawan Learner he had attended meditation there countless times.  
  
As he entered the clearing, Qui-Gon first became aware of the large group of youths circled around a tall white haired master with light blue skin. Qui-Gon recognized the Jedi as Master Tif Lo. Relief settled over the humanoid's thin face when he spotted Qui-Gon.  
  
"Jinn!" he called and stepped over a Bothan Padawan to reach the man. "I'm glad you came so quickly."  
  
It had not taken Qui-Gon long to identify his own apprentice, sitting far away from the group. "How could I not? Why didn't you explain anything in the message you sent me? Why is he alone?"  
  
Lo drew himself up to his full two meter height and peered at the other master warily, then allowed his gaze to float back to the lonely Padawan sitting on the grass.  
  
"I'm not completely sure what happened," he admitted with a gusting sigh. "I've spent all this time calming the others. Fortunately, I was able to turn this into a lesson on redirecting pain to the Force."  
  
Qui-Gon threw the other man a sharp glance. "Pain?"  
  
Lo nodded and rubbed his temples for emphasis. "I've still got a raging headache, and those images won't leave my mind for *quite* some time. I haven't had time to deal with them, yet." He looked the other Jedi squarely in the eye, his face and words dripping with suspicion. "You should have felt it, Jinn. You're his Master."  
  
Qui-Gon bristled. The accusing tone of the teacher's voice had not been lost on him. He chose to ignore the insinuation for the moment.  
  
"Felt what?" he pressed.  
  
Tif Lo nearly gawked at the man, but instead swept his gaze back to Obi- Wan. How could Jinn be so oblivious? Lo was well aware of the grisly reasons behind Padawan Kenobi's withdrawn nature, but feared the repercussions of the attack were only getting worse as the days passed. It was so clear to everyone else, why couldn't the man just *see* it?  
  
"Very well," he said. "I believe we had been in meditation for only twenty minutes or so. I was leading the students into the third stage. They were just becoming aware of their peers' consciousness, and were doing quite well, actually." He favored his pupils with an indulgent smile before it creased into a frown. The Padawans were throwing Kenobi curious and, he thought, rather discreet glances. Hushed voices floated back to the Masters.  
  
"Force! How terrible. I don't know how he lives with *that* - He must be going crazy. Couldn't you feel it? - So dark. Frightening. - I won't sleep for a week - "  
  
Lo pressed his lips together into a thin line and found Jinn's eyes. "We saw it, Qui-Gon," he said finally. "Saw it, felt it—any way you want to put it." He hesitated at the way the other man's eyes softened with compassion, still latched onto the slight form of Padawan Kenobi, who still sat all alone. Lo suddenly wished he had taken the time to speak with the boy, to leave the other apprentices alone for a moment. They were not the ones who had been damaged so. What Qui-Gon had thought he had been doing by letting the distraught boy back to classes so soon, Tif did not know.  
  
Qui-Gon let his eyes close for a moment as he gathered himself. He knew what the other Master was thinking. He had been asking himself the same question ever since Obi-Wan had confronted him in their home. He knew the youth was not ready, but was still reluctant to force anything on his apprentice. Despair seized his heart suddenly and guilt crashed through him. Obi-Wan hugged himself miserably and ducked his head down so his chin rested on his collarbone. If he was aware of the stares of his peers or teachers, he made no sign of it. Qui-Gon realized that he was to be blamed if this torture continued for much longer.  
  
"I'm almost positive he didn't mean to," Lo assured, "In fact, I *know* he didn't. It was an accident. There was too much in his head; it needed release. I'm assuming he relaxed his guard while meditating and one of the students—" He swept his arm over the circle of apprentices. "One of the students must have been curious. I'm sure it didn't take much more than a nudge for all that to spill out." His voice softened. "It was just too much for him to handle. I can't understand why he's keeping all that inside of him, why he'd want to. It's just too much for someone his age to handle. Gave us all headaches." He smiled wanly.  
  
Qui-Gon's nod was almost impalpable. "Thank you," he said tightly, and moved to go to his Padawan. Lo's hand on his arm made him pause.  
  
"This is serious, Jinn," the man said solemnly. "He's been hurt—you need to do something."  
  
Qui-Gon's answering look was so full of incredible anguish at the accusation—didn't Lo understand that he was doing all he could? — that Tif let go immediately in surprise. He tucked his long fingered hands into his robe sleeves to retain some of his dignity and nodded an apology.  
  
Qui-Gon said nothing and moved across the lush lawn to Obi-Wan. He needed to get the boy away from this place.  
  
* * *  
  
The long walk back to their quarters had been miserable and filled with a thick and brooding silence. When the master finally herded the doleful apprentice inside he was struck by the eerie familiarity this new situation held with the events of their grim return two weeks prior. Only after the door swished shut behind them did Obi-Wan seem comfortable enough to let down some of his façade. His breath left him in a rush and he brought a trembling hand to his face.  
  
"I can't believe I did that," he said, his voice a hollow whisper.  
  
Qui-Gon said nothing and did not move, only listened. He could feel echoes of his Padawan's thoughts and feelings as they skittered against the tightly shielded walls of his mind.  
  
"They all saw it," Obi-Wan said, his eyes widening before he clamped them firmly shut. "Not everything, but—enough." A huge sigh built in his chest and he was disturbed but not surprised when it came out as a half sob. He clenched his hand into a fist. "I can't believe I did that," he said again slowly, voice quivering with anger.  
  
He felt so frustrated! Each time he tried to forget—there it was again. Whispering to him in the shadows of his mind. Reminding him. Replaying the horrifying sequence of events. Telling him what he could have done differently to avoid the thing altogether. A shiver shot down his spine and he fought back tears. All this emotion! Confusion and shame and fear. All this emotion. All of it bad. Oh, how he *hated* it…  
  
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said his name softly and it swept over the Padawan's senses like a soothing caress. Blue-green eyes tracked a path up to the master's face and Obi-Wan found that he could not look away. Qui-Gon's gentle gaze left him somewhat shaken as it drove the anger away. It grounded him and Obi-Wan relaxed in response. Tightly coiled muscles began to unwind, and knots of tension began to make themselves known to him, no longer blurred by the frightening focus he had turned toward his bitter thoughts: burning between his shoulder blades, at the base of his neck, at his lower back.  
  
Soon Obi-Wan was left with nothing but the barest of his emotions and a slight unsteadiness in his legs. Qui-Gon said nothing more but the apprentice felt as if the older man was urging him to continue all the same. Where should he begin? The hatred that lay dormant inside of him, boiling away until the steam came out in irregular, raging bursts? Or the shame he could not even begin to understand? The fear he had. The utter loneliness that engulfed him, where was one to start? He realized that they were still standing in the entrance of their apartment.  
  
He looked up at his Master, a question forming on his lips, but Qui-Gon smiled gently and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Easy, Padawan. We have so much time together. Rest on the couch a while and sort through your thoughts. I'll bring you something to drink."  
  
Obi-Wan was relieved. "Thank you." He went into the den and shucked off his robe. He moved to toss it over the back of the couch, but thought better of it and hugged it close as he sat. It created the flimsiest of barriers between he and the rest of the apartment, but it was something. He was not ready to feel safe just yet. The warm lights of the room and the soft cushions of the sofa made him edgy. He found himself craving his Master's presence.  
  
His heart leapt suddenly as he realized that the time he so dreaded had come. As soon as Qui-Gon returned, he would need to tell him everything. He longed for release from this turmoil inside him, yet wondered how in all the Hells he was supposed to achieve it. What was he to say? A wave of repugnance washed over him as he once again felt the frustration at his inability to cope with his dilemma.  
  
He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, urging his stress to go with it.  
  
*Qui-Gon wants to help.*  
  
A tremulous smile formed even as he felt extraordinarily exposed in his forced willingness to accept assistance. It was easy to think about, but now that he was to actually *do* it…! His stomach tightened as Qui-Gon stepped into the room, a steaming cup of something—tea, most likely—in hand.  
  
The master folded his Padawan's cold hands around the warm cup and sat beside him. Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised to see that it was not tea at all, but a hot, spicy-sweet drink he was extremely fond of called pok'ra. He sipped at it tentatively and was pleased at the effect it had, creating a path of warmth he could feel as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach. He did not notice the smile that touched his lips until he felt Qui-Gon smooth his large hand affectionately over the bristly, reddish-gold hairs of Obi-Wan's head and then tug lightly on the braid behind his ear.  
  
"Now," the man said, his voice quiet and smooth, a mere suggestion of a lilt reaching the boy's ears. He dropped his hand supportively on the apprentice's shoulder. "Talk to me. We cannot let this continue."  
  
Obi-Wan took another sip of drink, but the delay was short. His torn gaze found his Master's and he bobbed his head down once in quiescence. He breathed deeply and began the arduous task of attempting to explain his troubled thoughts.  
  
* * *  
  
Qui-Gon looked down at the youth, and wondered how it was that sleep could change the appearance of a person so completely. In his slumber the boy looked relaxed, almost content. The glistening tear tracks had long since dried and the eyes were no longer red and swollen with weeping. The pinched, guarded look that had been so much a part of the last two weeks had all but disappeared from the Padawan's face.  
  
"I'm scared," the boy had said, and frowned.  
  
Qui-Gon only nodded in response, not even daring to speak, so that the teenager might continue.  
  
"I'm scared," Obi-Wan said again, his words slow and measured. His gaze had been cast to the side and it seemed as if he had forgotten everything around him. "Still. I'm still scared and now…" His gaze traveled in the direction of the door. "Now they all know," he whispered finally.  
  
Obi-Wan had fought the tears valiantly enough, long enough, but the battle soon interrupted his confessions and he let them come. It was a near silent cry, no moans, no sobs. Just the tears, and somehow that made everything seem so much worse. It proved to the master that Obi-Wan had accepted what had been done to him long ago, and now the after effects caused the only confusion within him. Obi-Wan had been left to wonder about the reasons *why* he had so brutally molested.  
  
And wonder was all he could do. Qui-Gon could no more give the boy answers than give him wings with which to fly.  
  
Qui-Gon's stomach had churned as Obi-Wan related to him everything that he had gone through. The boy had given such vivid description of the raging emotions inside him. He had apologized for the way he had acted to his Master, over and over. He had roughly explained the way the darkness at the edges of his thoughts felt, and together they worked to rid him of it. They had achieved some peace, though Qui-Gon knew they had a long road of healing ahead. He was not entirely sure the darkness would ever be completely gone. The rape was now a part of Obi-Wan, and it would never truly leave him. The Padawan could certainly move on, but there would always be something, some residue of it, a stubborn stain that refused to be washed away.  
  
Presently, Qui-Gon had decided to be as gentle as possible with the teenager, prove to the boy that he could be comfortable once more with his life. A broad smile was on him before he could stop it, as he recalled how Obi-Wan had not pulled away from his touch. Qui-Gon had been overjoyed when he had been able to give the boy a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and not be rejected. He had not realized how much he depended on such trifle deeds.  
  
Qui-Gon unsuccessfully stifled a yawn and turned away from the Padawan, walking softly into his own room. He left his door open a crack after a moment of indecision and looked askance to the bedside table. In the single drawer lay Obi-Wan's lightsaber. Qui-Gon was still not prepared to return it to the youth. The incident, as he had come to think of it, had been too disturbing. Had hit a little too close to home.  
  
They had made progress tonight. It was a large first step that would precede many more, but it was headed in the right direction. There was still much anger in the boy, rightfully so, Qui-Gon thought, but in the life they led, such feelings were not acceptable. Perhaps in the next week or so he would be ready to return the instrument to his student. Yes. He felt positive it would be soon. Things were going to be so much better, now. Qui-Gon prepared himself for sleep.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Obi-Wan was dreaming.  
  
On some level he knew this, yet did not make any attempts to rouse himself as the familiar specter moved closer. It was too dark to make out any features, but he knew who the shadow was.  
  
He was lying in bed, watching as Benter moved closer. Obi-Wan was becoming increasingly aware of the uncomfortable heat that thickened the air around him, accompanying the ghost's approach, and tried to pin the figure where it was with his eyes.  
  
But it moved closer still, the warmth grew, and Obi-Wan kicked off his heavy sheets to lessen his discomfort—and to leave him free to run, if necessary.  
  
"You can't touch me," he whispered to the deepening silence, hoping to soothe the frantic pounding of his heart. He desperately tried to keep words Qui-Gon had said to him before he went to his room for the night at the front of his mind, picturing his master's face, his eyes, his smile. That might keep him brave. Keep him strong.  
  
The phantom did not reply. Obi-Wan was met only with a gust of hot air. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck.  
  
"Qui-Gon is in the next room," he warned, louder.  
  
The specter hovered over him, silent as ever.  
  
"Why are you here?" he demanded, shutting his watering eyes against the dry and scorching air.  
  
The silence terrified him. He could not let Benter take him again. He could not. Not after everything that had happened today, not when he was starting to feel like a person again—!  
  
It was all too much, all too soon.  
  
"You're dead," he said, frowning at the waver in his voice. Banishing the uncertainty from his words he went on. "He killed you. Why are you here?"  
  
He heard the creaking of springs in his sleep couch, felt the mattress dip under someone else's weight. Panic choked him. Obi-Wan turned his face away, painfully aware of the tears of fright leaking past his tightly closed eyelids.  
  
"What do you want from me?" he whispered fearfully, unable to bring himself to open his eyes. "Qui-Gon killed you."  
  
He felt hot breath burn his cheek, then the brush of a hand, soothing the reddened flesh. Obi-Wan's stomach rolled and he shuddered, pressing his body even more firmly against the sleep couch. He wished it would open up from under him, let him drop out and away from the violating touch.  
  
He remembered the first time so clearly; the terrible moment when he realized what was happening; the overly hot hands holding him down, bruising him; the searing pain from behind; the very second when he knew he did not belong to himself anymore, would never again. The empty black chasm that filled him.  
  
Obi-Wan began to weep bitterly. Feelings he had thought exiled in his discussion with Qui-Gon returned. He knew he had been defeated. Broken. That experience would be the one thing to keep him from ever being great; it would stunt his growth as a Jedi. Everything he did in the future would be lacking.  
  
The fiery anger that sparked inside of him at that realization burned him like no real flame could. Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists. Benter had taken something that was not his, and Obi-Wan could never get it back.  
  
Hands closed around his wrists.  
  
Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, still sobbing with dismay and anger.  
  
"I hate you," he said, and stared up in shock at the surprised face of his Master.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Note: I apologize. I know I said that I had this all worked out, but it was just too short.I'm in the process of making it longer, and I'm afraid the quality of the story is deteriorating. I'm tempted to stop it right now and wait until I know I can make it good. This chapter especially is where I'm noticing problems. Please tell me if things aren't tying together well. Things have changed for this story at least ten times since I started it, and now I don't know where I'm going. I'm flying blind. If I ever again post a new story that is not completely, absolutely, totally finished, please slap my face. 


	5. The Big Come Down

Apparent Mutations: The Big Come Down  
  
  
  
Qui-Gon looked down at his Padawan in surprise. Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he shrank away from his Master's touch.  
  
"M-Master Qui-Gon!" he stuttered. "I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't know—I was dreaming and…" He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm so sorry," he whispered fearfully.  
  
Qui-Gon loosened his grip on Obi-Wan's narrow wrists and the teen immediately pulled away, his arms crossing and snaking around his sides as if sick. He ducked his head and tried to explain.  
  
"It was just a dream, Master—I don't hate you. It wasn't even you I was speaking to," he hastily assured. His head jerked up suddenly and he sought his Master's gaze. "I swear! I would never say something like that—*intentionally*—to anyone." Obi-Wan shrugged his shoulders helplessly, nervously fiddling with his braid. "Please forgive me."  
  
Qui-Gon felt his Padawan's nervousness grow through the long silence following the apology and sighed. His Padawan's distress had woken him. He had caught glimpses of the dream, stray thoughts that had found their way across the bond they shared. In his haste to help his apprentice he had nearly tripped over the sheets of his sleep couch.  
  
Once in Obi-Wan's room he had tried to wake the boy without startling him, but Obi-Wan's eyes had suddenly flown open and those words had tumbled out in such a rush.  
  
Qui-Gon placed his palm on the crown of the teen's head and let it slide down to Obi-Wan's nape. He gently kneaded the tense muscles on the young man's neck and studied the twisted sheets between them as he mulled over what to say.  
  
"It's all right, Obi-Wan," he said slowly. He caught the young man's eye and went on solemnly, "I hope you don't keep going like this much longer. You're letting him torture you still."  
  
Obi-Wan had to turn his head, unable to face Qui-Gon's words, but the master did not look away.  
  
"I'm afraid for you, Padawan. You say things. You've led me to believe, twice already, that you're improving; that there may be an end in sight to all of this. Just hours ago we held the longest discussion we've had since coming home. Was it not healing for you?" His eyes turned pleading. "Obi- Wan, you *must* tell me when things aren't working! How am I to help you if I have no direction? I'm flying blind with this, child."  
  
"It *is* helping," Obi-Wan groaned, dropping his head in his hands and rubbing at the grainy sleep in his eyes. He stopped and pressed his fingers against his closed lids until he saw sparks, trying to shake off the last lingering images of his dream. He let his hands fall to his lap with a resigned sigh and glanced up at his master to see if he could gauge a reaction from the man.  
  
Qui-Gon quirked a brow in obvious demur.  
  
"I mean I—I thought it was helping," the Padawan grumbled. "It was only a dream anyway," he said firmly, but found little solace in the words.  
  
"I think it was more than that," Qui-Gon countered quietly.  
  
The master had been dismayed when Obi-Wan had woken up with those terrible words on his lips. It was a cruel and abrupt reminder to him that they had such a long way to go before either one of them could spend a waking moment without that monster hovering just over their thoughts.  
  
But waking moments, it seemed, were not the problem at hand.  
  
"Obi-Wan," he said firmly, trying to bring back the youth's attention. "Obi- Wan, I know. I—understand." He searched his Padawan's face for any sign of disbelief at the insinuation of similar suffering.  
  
Oh, Qui-Gon knew he would never truly know the hell his apprentice waded through each day. But he was close enough to the boy that he could feel pangs when he caught a flicker of self-doubt cross the blue-green eyes, feel the anguish when he glimpsed a flash of self-loathing from the teenager. Feel his heart split in two when the youth spoke so softly, timidly, ready to bolt lest he take a wrong step. Qui-Gon suffered as well, but it was the suffering of a man helpless.  
  
Obi-Wan made no sign, though, that he was to protest. Instead, he turned a questioning gaze on the master, then his eyes widened.  
  
"You saw it," he moaned, "You saw my dream. Why does that keep happening? I'm sorry…" Obi-Wan pressed his nails into his palm. "I should have more control," he growled. He could not explain the sudden draining effect that left him feeling so empty. He dug his nails deeper, needing to feel something real, something other than this maddening numbness. He remembered the dream and how scared he had been. How angry.  
  
*I hate you.*  
  
Obi-Wan shuddered. He had never known hate before. Was this how it was for everyone? Was this how it felt, always, for those who readily embraced it, like in the stories of the ancient Sith he had heard in the creche, or for Xanatos? For a brief second, Obi-Wan had a revelation. He finally understood why his master's former apprentice had refused to give up his search for revenge. Obi-Wan thought that he, too, would do almost anything if he thought it would fill the deep chasm inside of him. He suddenly knew why life meant so little to dark Force wielders, why they were able to kill so easily, be so wholly intent on exacting revenge.  
  
But that didn't make it right, he reminded himself. Hate and revenge never helped anybody.  
  
And the revelation was gone. Obi-Wan would maintain a blissful ignorance of the gray that fuzzed the line between good and evil for the rest of his youth. He was glad.  
  
He looked at Qui-Gon, his eyes clear of any dark emotion, and his body relaxed. The only marks of his previous tension were the red dents in the palms of both his hands.  
  
"He raped me," he said simply, his voice hollow. With that short statement he tested the atmosphere for broaching this conversation. Qui-Gon gave the slightest of nods, bidding him to continue. In the dim light the only color of the man was the glitter in his blue eyes, reflecting the few lights shining in from the inner temple through the bedroom window. The Padawan was well aware of the fact that they had yet to discuss the incident itself. His confusion about it afterwards they had analyzed at length, but the real pain inside?  
  
"He hurt me." Obi-Wan spoke his words slowly, cautiously. He struggled to match the best terms with his feelings. When that was impossible, to put mere words to the raging despair inside, he opened his mind to his master, let down the now faulty shielding.  
  
Qui-Gon was an attentive and compassionate listener. Sometimes, when his apprentice could not find the words, he supplied them. Obi-Wan seemed very grateful for this, and the older Jedi supposed that it comforted the boy to know he was capable of being understood.  
  
"Everything was gone. Right when he—When it happened. At first I thought it was shock, that I would get over it, but it lasted the whole trip home and the days after. I needed to fill it…" He trailed off, searching his mind, trying to pin down specific emotions and thoughts that had served as such quick fixes to satisfy his distraught psyche's insatiable hunger. "I can't *feel* anything," he growled suddenly. His frustration was evident.  
  
"In the gym," he went on, "That scared me the most. I think I realized then that he had made a permanent mark on me. I couldn't seem to control myself. It was almost as if I was—I don't know—"  
  
"Broken?" Qui-Gon offered.  
  
Obi-Wan tested the word, then gave a fervent nod. "Yes! Broken. Exactly. The good part of me is gone—*was* gone, and I was afraid that inside I was rotting away. It was the same as how I felt before you found me." The Padawan was relieved that the ability to speak of his captivity had become easier. "He put that collar on me and I was cut off from everything. I couldn't even feel you."  
  
Obi-Wan was still sitting on his sleep couch, back pressed against the wall behind him and his knees drawn up. He forced himself to lower them and sit cross-legged instead. No more barriers, no matter how trivial they seemed. Qui-Gon had pulled the chair from under Obi-Wan's desk and sat in it leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.  
  
"There was so much—*feeling* in me, Master." Somehow, the word emotion did not seem at all accurate, and now that he had heard it, 'feeling' sounded awkward, as well. How was one to explain the utter chaos that had enveloped him? The concession of 'feelings': shock, fear, anger, hate, crushing despair—and then complete silence both inside and out like he had never known. He furrowed his brow.  
  
"It was bad," he said, then shrugged. "I can't explain it. I just want to forget it—more than anything. I don't want to think about it anymore." He did not stop himself when he instinctively pulled up his physical barriers again, the minute shields of his arms and legs crossed in front of him to keep out that which may harm.  
  
Forget it. Forget all about it. Pretend it never happened. Obi-Wan knew that was unrealistic and he said so, somehow managing to sound both defensive and self-deprecating at the same time.  
  
"I know that's not healthy," he said with short and forced laughter, "But it's what I want. I can't help it."  
  
"You've meditated?" Qui-Gon prompted.  
  
The quick laugh again. "Yes. No. Force knows I've tried to. I just can't; not by myself."  
  
"Why didn't you come to me for help?" The master was sure to speak his words quietly and without judgement.  
  
Obi-Wan shook his head, hugging his knees to his chest and staring fixedly down at his toes, which he wiggled distractedly. "I couldn't ask you for help."  
  
"Why not someone else?"  
  
"I couldn't ask anyone! No one would know what to do."  
  
"You sound so sure."  
  
"I haven't heard of one other in the Order who has gone through a—what I had to go through." He swallowed thickly. "A rape. They don't know. And even if they did, what good would it do either of us? They don't need some hysterical Padawan who's nearly eighteen crying for them to help." He spat his title viciously and after a beat of silence buried his face in his arms.  
  
"A rape," he echoed faintly. "I can't believe I—I know you don't have an answer but—why did it happen? Why didn't I move quicker, see it coming sooner? I was so angry at myself at first." He shifted and those blue-green eyes peeked blankly out over his crossed arms. "Now I only wish I could feel *something…*"  
  
"I just want to forget all about it," he finished quietly.  
  
A beat of silence passed before Qui-Gon would respond. "We cannot wish it away, Padawan."  
  
The apprentice snorted softly. "No," he agreed. "We cannot."  
  
"If you are willing to accept, I would like to offer you my help. I know your meditations have not gone well. Perhaps we could do it together?" Qui- Gon was well aware of his apprentice's stubbornly independent streak, and was relieved when the boy raised hopeful blue-green eyes.  
  
"Would you?" the youth whispered.  
  
The older man's heart lurched at the sight before him: his Padawan, huddled up into a tight ball on the rumpled sheets of his sleep couch, wide- and teary-eyed, disbelief echoing in his voice as he asked if he—Qui-Gon—would want to help him. The master moved out of his chair and onto the bed next to Obi-Wan. He clamped a firm hand down on the boy's shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye.  
  
"I cannot believe you think I would even hesitate."  
  
"I think I might have hurt you," Obi-Wan said by of explanation in a wavering voice. "You seemed really sad all the time—"  
  
"Oh, Obi-Wan! How could you think that?" When the teen's gaze flickered with question, he said, "You were…confused. I know that. I did not want to push you into accepting help when it may have made you uncomfortable. It was—still is—a delicate time for you. You never hurt me."  
  
"You took my saber away. I thought you were—"  
  
Qui-Gon cut him off, "Disappointed? Angry?" He was happy Obi-Wan was willing to remain open about his feelings, but severely let down to know that he had given his Padawan the impression that he was being intrusive.  
  
But the lightsaber. That was delicate.  
  
"Padawan," he began, "What happened in the gym was a mistake." He paused and gathered himself before continuing. "You let your anger possess you and that is something that we, as Jedi, cannot afford to do." He was reminded of his musings earlier that night. "I am not angry. All of us are tempted and I understand that. I am willing to move on if you are. But as for your saber, I am convinced that you will have it back soon. Maybe this week, if you're up to it, we can try sparring again."  
  
He saw relief wash over Obi-Wan's face in the weak early morning light.  
  
"Thank you, Master," the boy said in hushed tones. He felt better. A weight had been lifted. A crushing, smothering weight had been lifted. Before he retired to bed a hole had been made, and light seeped through to him in weak comfort. But now the wall of dismal solitude was completely gone. He had someone to lean onto. He did not have to keep all of this inside of him. A rush of elation suddenly overcame him. "Thank you, Master!" he said again, a delighted smile kissing his lips.  
  
Qui-Gon grinned at his Padawan and Obi-Wan was happy.  
  
"I should have done this ages ago."  
  
"You feel better? There is still much to discuss," Qui-Gon gently reminded his apprentice.  
  
"I know." Obi-Wan tried to find the correct terms to make his master understand. "I can see it ending, now." He raised his brows in silent apology. "I can't say it any other way. I feel—reassured."  
  
And full. No longer empty inside. Thick warmth had spread through him and the cold emptiness he had felt for so long was gone. He wanted to tell his master how good it felt, how soothing it was. To be dead for so long and suddenly be filled with life. He was elated, giddy, happy—it reminded him of the heady sweetness he had felt five months ago when he had tried alzurean ale for the first (and last) time.  
  
He was incredibly relieved and glad, but most of all he was—  
  
"Tired."  
  
His master blinked. "Padawan?"  
  
"I'm tired." Faint disappointment touched him but he did not give it much thought. To let this moment of change that would return to him his normal life go so soon seemed a shame, but as his eyelids drooped heavily it hardly mattered.  
  
"It is very late," Qui-Gon conceded, shifting where he sat so he could help Obi-Wan lie down.  
  
"So late it's early."  
  
The master chuckled softly and helped his apprentice settle under the sheets. He fluffed the boy's pillow and Obi-Wan groaned when he put his head down on it.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I want to stay up. I want to talk. There's so much to say," he explained around a yawn.  
  
"There's plenty of time, Padawan." Qui-Gon eased back into the desk chair by the bed.  
  
"I should have done this ages ago," the boy repeated in a murmur.  
  
"Only when you were ready," Qui-Gon quietly soothed.  
  
There was a certain tangle of triumph in the older man that refused to be unwound. He knew the source of it and a broad smile softened his sharply planed face. He pressed a kiss into the soft ginger hair. "Sleep, Obi-Wan," he softly commanded, and the boy's lids fell shut, trapping those once again beautiful eyes, no longer dark with muted agony, within safe harbor. The long coal-colored lashes lightly brushed against the smooth and fair skin of his cheekbones and Qui-Gon had to touch the side of the still face with one coarse finger, tracing a short path across the velvety short hairs of the visage.  
  
He rested a hand atop the boy's chest. The master wrapped himself in the quiet sounds of Obi-Wan's deep and steady breathing, allowing himself to find comfort in the thudding heart beneath his palm, and simply sat with his gaze locked onto the beloved face as his apprentice slept.  
  
the end 


End file.
